"DU!" he proclaims, sauntering away. The pit erupts in applause.
"DU HAST!" they cry.
"DU HAST!" they cry.
Kruspe turns and smiles at Lindemann. Landers does the same. Lorenz continues to walk in place. Riedel solemnly stares into the pit, expressionless. Schneider's frenzied movements from high above draw the pit's attention.
"DU HAST MICH!" Lindemann growls, pointing into the pit, demanding more from the wretched youths within. They mimic his cries in off-key screams, hoping to appease him. He smiles, obviously pleased.
Lindemann pounds his fist against his thigh, banging his head to the beat of the drums surging through the arena.
The youths shriek, begging for more... and the onslaught of flames rise into the sky...
A little over a year ago, I fell in love with the incredible Neue Deutsche Härte band, Rammstein.
Their origins lay in the ruins of the GDR, or what was formally East Germany during the Cold War, and their legacy as one of the most influential and theatrical metal bands of the century lives on in their Made in Germany Tour.
I was blessed with being able to see their show in Philadelphia a few days ago.
(I'd like to thank my wonderful friend, Linda, for offering me her spare ticket to the show at the last minute, otherwise I would not be writing this. Linda, you're fucking awesome, and the show was fucking phenomenal.)
This wasn't my first concert, but it certainly felt as if it was. Standing in the pit, it really didn't hit me that I was going to be actually seeing one of my favourite bands until the six of them--Till Lindemann, Paul Landers, Richard Z. Kruspe, Oliver Riedel, Flake Lorenz, and Christoph Schneider--slowly walked down the aisles of the Wells Fargo Centre towards the stage, Riedel carrying a flaming torch, Schneider toting a tattered Rammstein flag, and Flake carrying my own state's flag. All I remember is standing not twenty feet from the band, almost in tears, and squeezing Linda's hand while babbling something along the lines of, "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck, it's Rammstein right in front of me, holy FUCK, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna throw up, holy shit, THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING."
I stood there, trembling, as Riedel's red-shadowed eyes bore into mine, his face expressionless. I screamed his name, "OLLIE!", and cheered. The corners of his mouth tugged for a small grin, but he kept calm, before slowly looking away into the stands. Till Lindemann stood perfectly still, hands behind his back, black-lined eyes staring forward into the pit. Paul Landers and Richard Z. Kruspe stood on either side of him, faces blank. Christoph Schneider's calloused hands gripped tightly around the pole of the tattered Rammstein flag. Fans around me tried their hardest to reach it, only to be denied by security. And Flake Lorenz, in his glittery camouflage jumpsuit, stood holding the Pennsylvania flag, proudly displaying respect for us fans.
As they crossed the industrial catwalk to the main stage, Linda and I hooked our arms together, took a deep breath... and hauled ass to the front of the pit, getting as close as we could to the main stage.
Which was right about here.
First explosion of the show, shortly after the performance of Sonne.
For those of you who aren't aware, Rammstein is known for their very controversial and incredibly theatrical performances. Fire is a HUGE part of their stage presence; There hasn't been a Rammstein show without it since they first formed in 1994 in Berlin.
After the fireworks were shot over the audience via a rocket launcher wielded by Till, I knew I was in for something incredible.
And it was.
Being able to see my favourite musicians on stage was exhilarating, to say the least. It was unreal, simply because a few hours prior, I didn't think I'd be going.
My dear friend, Linda, was kind enough to give me her spare ticket to the show at the very last minute. Since the tickets went on sale in November, 2011, I was constantly badgering my parents to let me go, and, while they certainly would have loved to do it, the money for tickets simply wasn't in the cards. Defeated, I moped like the distressed teenager I am for months, and when the day of the show rolled around, I was, in a word, depressed.
When I told Linda to have fun at the show for me on the way to class that day, she looked at me and said without a second's hesitation, "I have another ticket, and nobody to go with. You want to go?"
As my friend Nieriel can certainly testify for me, I was close to tears. Ecstatic, I squealed and danced around like a fucking moron in the middle of the hallway. (An 11th grade Punk in combat boots, dark makeup, and a studded jacket flailing about like a spider monkey who just snorted a thousand dollars worth of cocaine certainly gets a lot of odd looks...)
So, again, I thank you, Linda. You are awesome. *virtual hug*
Performing Ohne Dich on the second stage
But, along with an insane concert, comes insane fans. Though I was indeed one of them, there was one man at the concert who really got what was coming to him.
First of all, let me say that he was a wanker. I will refer to him as such along with other explicitives for the remainder of this post.
During the performance of Mann Gegen Mann, deep in the moshpit, a man not 30 feet away from me got hit in the face. Hard.
Concerned, Till Lindemann leaned over during an instrumental stanza to see if he was alright.
This asshole turns around, and I kid you not, gives the Nazi heil.
Till's face went blank. And as this wanker blatantly insulted the men before him, Till shouts in his thick German accent, "FUCK YOU! WHO GIVES A SHIT?!" and spat on him.
Shortly after, that motherfucker was hauled off by security, which resulted in much applause from everybody else in the pit.
Flake, surfing the pit during Haifisch
Thankfully, though, this didn't hinder their performances. Quite the contrary, it made them even more personal with the audience.
When the band crossed the catwalk one final time to the main stage for the finale, I took a chance, and screamed Paul Landers' name from where I stood. Amazingly, the guitarist heard me, looked down, and smiled warmly at me with a wink and a wave.
I kind of melted on the spot.
(I thought it might have been enough when Roger Daltrey cursed at me and my friend Allie in September when I saw him at the Mann Cantre, but... SORRY, ROGER, THIS WAS SO MUCH BETTER!)
So, just as the band thanked us, the crowd, after their performance, I would like to thank them.
To Till Lindemann, Paul Landers, Richard Z. Kruspe, Oliver Riedel, Flake Lorenz, and Christoph Schneider... I give you my thanks. I give you my love, my respect, and my undying loyalty. As you took your bows and clapped for us, the audience, my only thoughts were that these men, who all grew up in the Communist-controlled society of the GDR in the decades following the second World War, who struggled to get their hands on suitable instruments, who never thought they'd break out of the GDR and make music for the world... were bowing for us. Their humbleness and love for the people who listen to their music is astonishing. Till's macabre, incredibly poetic lyrics, Richard and Paul's signature Rammfire sound, Ollie's deep and heavy bass lines, Schneider's frenzied drumming, and Flake's signature craziness behind his keyboards make Rammstein. From the flame-spurting angel wings in Engel to the flamethrowers and cauldron in Mein Teil, Rammstein will forevermore live on as one of the most influential bands in the metal genre.
Danke, Till, Reesch, Paul, Ollie, Flake, und Schneider.
LIEBE IST FÜR ALLE DA!
The youths shriek, begging for more... and the onslaught of flames rise into the sky...
A little over a year ago, I fell in love with the incredible Neue Deutsche Härte band, Rammstein.
Their origins lay in the ruins of the GDR, or what was formally East Germany during the Cold War, and their legacy as one of the most influential and theatrical metal bands of the century lives on in their Made in Germany Tour.
I was blessed with being able to see their show in Philadelphia a few days ago.
(I'd like to thank my wonderful friend, Linda, for offering me her spare ticket to the show at the last minute, otherwise I would not be writing this. Linda, you're fucking awesome, and the show was fucking phenomenal.)
This wasn't my first concert, but it certainly felt as if it was. Standing in the pit, it really didn't hit me that I was going to be actually seeing one of my favourite bands until the six of them--Till Lindemann, Paul Landers, Richard Z. Kruspe, Oliver Riedel, Flake Lorenz, and Christoph Schneider--slowly walked down the aisles of the Wells Fargo Centre towards the stage, Riedel carrying a flaming torch, Schneider toting a tattered Rammstein flag, and Flake carrying my own state's flag. All I remember is standing not twenty feet from the band, almost in tears, and squeezing Linda's hand while babbling something along the lines of, "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck, it's Rammstein right in front of me, holy FUCK, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna throw up, holy shit, THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING."
I stood there, trembling, as Riedel's red-shadowed eyes bore into mine, his face expressionless. I screamed his name, "OLLIE!", and cheered. The corners of his mouth tugged for a small grin, but he kept calm, before slowly looking away into the stands. Till Lindemann stood perfectly still, hands behind his back, black-lined eyes staring forward into the pit. Paul Landers and Richard Z. Kruspe stood on either side of him, faces blank. Christoph Schneider's calloused hands gripped tightly around the pole of the tattered Rammstein flag. Fans around me tried their hardest to reach it, only to be denied by security. And Flake Lorenz, in his glittery camouflage jumpsuit, stood holding the Pennsylvania flag, proudly displaying respect for us fans.
As they crossed the industrial catwalk to the main stage, Linda and I hooked our arms together, took a deep breath... and hauled ass to the front of the pit, getting as close as we could to the main stage.
Which was right about here.
For those of you who aren't aware, Rammstein is known for their very controversial and incredibly theatrical performances. Fire is a HUGE part of their stage presence; There hasn't been a Rammstein show without it since they first formed in 1994 in Berlin.
After the fireworks were shot over the audience via a rocket launcher wielded by Till, I knew I was in for something incredible.
And it was.
Being able to see my favourite musicians on stage was exhilarating, to say the least. It was unreal, simply because a few hours prior, I didn't think I'd be going.
My dear friend, Linda, was kind enough to give me her spare ticket to the show at the very last minute. Since the tickets went on sale in November, 2011, I was constantly badgering my parents to let me go, and, while they certainly would have loved to do it, the money for tickets simply wasn't in the cards. Defeated, I moped like the distressed teenager I am for months, and when the day of the show rolled around, I was, in a word, depressed.
When I told Linda to have fun at the show for me on the way to class that day, she looked at me and said without a second's hesitation, "I have another ticket, and nobody to go with. You want to go?"
As my friend Nieriel can certainly testify for me, I was close to tears. Ecstatic, I squealed and danced around like a fucking moron in the middle of the hallway. (An 11th grade Punk in combat boots, dark makeup, and a studded jacket flailing about like a spider monkey who just snorted a thousand dollars worth of cocaine certainly gets a lot of odd looks...)
So, again, I thank you, Linda. You are awesome. *virtual hug*
But, along with an insane concert, comes insane fans. Though I was indeed one of them, there was one man at the concert who really got what was coming to him.
First of all, let me say that he was a wanker. I will refer to him as such along with other explicitives for the remainder of this post.
During the performance of Mann Gegen Mann, deep in the moshpit, a man not 30 feet away from me got hit in the face. Hard.
Concerned, Till Lindemann leaned over during an instrumental stanza to see if he was alright.
This asshole turns around, and I kid you not, gives the Nazi heil.
Till's face went blank. And as this wanker blatantly insulted the men before him, Till shouts in his thick German accent, "FUCK YOU! WHO GIVES A SHIT?!" and spat on him.
Shortly after, that motherfucker was hauled off by security, which resulted in much applause from everybody else in the pit.
Thankfully, though, this didn't hinder their performances. Quite the contrary, it made them even more personal with the audience.
When the band crossed the catwalk one final time to the main stage for the finale, I took a chance, and screamed Paul Landers' name from where I stood. Amazingly, the guitarist heard me, looked down, and smiled warmly at me with a wink and a wave.
I kind of melted on the spot.
(I thought it might have been enough when Roger Daltrey cursed at me and my friend Allie in September when I saw him at the Mann Cantre, but... SORRY, ROGER, THIS WAS SO MUCH BETTER!)
So, just as the band thanked us, the crowd, after their performance, I would like to thank them.
To Till Lindemann, Paul Landers, Richard Z. Kruspe, Oliver Riedel, Flake Lorenz, and Christoph Schneider... I give you my thanks. I give you my love, my respect, and my undying loyalty. As you took your bows and clapped for us, the audience, my only thoughts were that these men, who all grew up in the Communist-controlled society of the GDR in the decades following the second World War, who struggled to get their hands on suitable instruments, who never thought they'd break out of the GDR and make music for the world... were bowing for us. Their humbleness and love for the people who listen to their music is astonishing. Till's macabre, incredibly poetic lyrics, Richard and Paul's signature Rammfire sound, Ollie's deep and heavy bass lines, Schneider's frenzied drumming, and Flake's signature craziness behind his keyboards make Rammstein. From the flame-spurting angel wings in Engel to the flamethrowers and cauldron in Mein Teil, Rammstein will forevermore live on as one of the most influential bands in the metal genre.
Danke, Till, Reesch, Paul, Ollie, Flake, und Schneider.
LIEBE IST FÜR ALLE DA!
